


harvest moon

by hallaburger



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trans!Connor, ish?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-07-23 23:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallaburger/pseuds/hallaburger
Summary: It’s nearly impossible to tell day from night in the Pens, but Connor has figured out a system. What none of the other captives seem to have noticed is obvious to him. He knows it’s night when the vampire king comes to visit.Future/Post-Apocalyptic AU. Vamps/Weres are evolved humanoid races, with "heritage" humans existing mainly in captivity as a food source for the elites of the Adapted.





	1. morsel

**Author's Note:**

> **NOTE: this is NOT a pleasant story at the beginning. There is a lot of really dubious consent due to the power dynamic between Kamski and Connor, so please keep that in mind. I am not responsible if you know this, read it anyway, and are then upset about it. I am all for self-care, so go into this AWARE! All dub/non-con is strictly between Kamski and Connor--when we get to the hankcon, it will be absolutely consensual.

It’s nearly impossible to distinguish day from night in the Pens, but Connor has figured out a system. What none of the other captives seem to have noticed is obvious to him. He knows it’s night when the vampire king comes to visit. 

He knows this because, more frequently than the majority of the others, he is the king’s choice--for companionship, as a trophy, as a meal. Connor isn’t sure what about him makes him so appealing to Kamski, but each time the tall, slender vampire has come down to make his selection, he’s stopped outside the glass door to Connor’s cell. He spends a moment admiring Connor, and occasionally speaks to him, and inevitably unlocks the door to slide the glass open. Connor knows that he wouldn’t get more than ten steps away if he tried to run. He hasn’t tried in a long time. Tonight’s series of events is no different.

“Hello, little pet,” Kamski purrs, the panther to Connor’s rabbit. Connor looks up without lifting his head. Kamski smirks, chuckling in that infuriating way he does. “Aw, don’t look so upset to see me. Surely it’s good for you to get up and out of this awful place and stretch your legs for a while.” 

_I’d rather eat my own arm than spend another hour with you,_ Connor doesn’t say. Instead, he stands, his plain white shift falling down around his knees. Most of the captives wear the same thing--it’s simple, essentially one-size-fits-all, and doesn’t require maintenance. Connor’s is different only in that it’s the only one that gets routine cleaning. “Expecting company?” Connor asks as he steps out of the cell. 

“A small diplomatic contingency from New England,” Kamski says with a smile, holding out an arm for Connor. “But yours is the only company I desire.”

Connor curls his arm around Kamski’s and tries not to shiver with the chill touch of his skin. Of all the fictional accounts of vampires he read when he was a kid, he’s certain none of them could have anticipated this--that by 2058, the earth would be a wasteland, habitable only by the most well-adapted to the harsh environment, and by those who the adapted were able to imprison and sustain. Those who did adapt physically adapted in ways Connor never dreamed possible; some became shells of human existence, able to survive on the barest nourishment and live far longer than the generations before. Stealth and speed became the winning traits of their kind, hunters tailored to biding their time between meals. Then there were the others--Connor isn’t sure whether they have a name of their own design, but the vamps refer to them as the dogs. Connor has never met one personally, but from Kamski’s description, they’re bred for strength and dexterity, able to live in even the worst climates. Where the vamps must survive on blood alone, the dogs can eat almost anything, and have the bad attitude to _try_ to eat anything. Even knowing what the vamps and the dogs endure to survive, Connor wouldn’t call himself and the humans like him the lucky ones, given what he’s endured for the last fifteen years, but at least here he has food and a roof over his head. There’s something affirming about not having to run and hide, about knowing exactly where he’ll be each day and night, about knowing that, as Kamski’s most prized possession, there is a steak dinner waiting for him after his duties to the king are finished. 

Kamski leads him to the elevator at the far end of the Pens. It’s always guarded, so even if any of the stock were to escape their cells, they would never reach the surface. Connor has spent years drowning out the pained and desperate cries of his fellow captives, but the silence of the elevator is always deafening. Once the elevator begins its ascent, Connor shifts on his feet. “Master...if I behave, will you let me go to bed early?” he asks. 

Kamski lifts an eyebrow. “Feeling shy, are we? Why would you want to go to bed when you get to enjoy the comforts of the Manor?”

The king seems to be in a decent mood tonight. Connor pushes his luck a little further. “I miss getting to sleep in a real bed. It reminds me of home, of before. I don’t sleep as well when I’m in the Pens.” It’s a dirty old trick, Connor thinks to himself, but he’s found that the surest way to get Kamski to indulge him is by alluding to any risk to his health. The reason Kamski feeds him so well is to make sure he stays healthy, which in turn means more and better quality blood for Kamski himself to feed on. 

“We shall see,” Kamski replies after a thoughtful hum. “If you comport yourself in a way I deem exemplary, perhaps I’ll let you retire early.”

“Thank you, master,” Connor murmurs, ignoring Kamski’s purple prose and trying to control his pulse. He doesn’t want Kamski to know how relieved he is to have this chance. It isn’t just about sleeping in a proper bed--any amount he can shorten the time spent around Kamski’s guests is time he’ll take. Between Kamski showing him off like a prized calf and dodging the vamps when they get territorial, Connor detests every second. 

The elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open to Kamski’s penthouse. Once, the floor to ceiling windows would have allowed the tenant a spectacular view of Detroit and the riverfront; now, they’re painted over with several coats of white to keep the sun out. Connor remembers wondering aloud, the first time he was brought here, why a vampire wouldn’t decorate in darker tones. Kamski had hissed at him in annoyance and explained that as long as the sun can’t get in, the color of the walls doesn’t matter. He’s learned over the time he’s spent with Kamski since, that the man has a rather sterile sense of design. _Minimalist,_ it was once called. Connor thinks it gets Kamski hard, seeing Connor’s blood on the linens. 

“Why don’t you go pick out something to wear,” Kamski says, and Connor thinks he must be in an _exceptionally_ good mood tonight, because usually there’s already something chosen for him. “I’ll get the bath ready for you.”

Connor approaches the walk-in closet as Kamski heads to the en suite. He knows which sections are for him--the wardrobe Kamski has supplied him with isn’t huge, but it’s more than Connor ever would have had before. There are perks to being the Prime Familiar of the king of vampires, all things considered. He peruses the clothing, knowing that while it’s his choice, Kamski will still expect a certain look--bare neck, maybe bared shoulders. Something that shows off Connor’s pale, freckled skin and the few silver scars from Kamski’s fangs. Something that reminds both Connor and the guests just how much he is _owned_. He chooses a cream-colored ballet-neck shirt--it’s maybe a little more femme than he likes, but he knows it will make Kamski happy and therefore improve his chances of ducking out early. Gathering the shirt and some underwear and a pair of trousers, he carries them into the bathroom, where Kamski sits on the edge of the oversized tub, testing the water with milk-pale fingers. 

“I took the liberty of adding some bubbles for you,” Kamski says as Connor sets the clothing down on the counter.

_Gee, thanks, because that totally makes up for all the shit you’ve done to me so far._ “Thank you, that was thoughtful of you,” Connor says. He puts his fingers under the tap to feel the temperature, and it’s barely too hot, but Connor won’t argue. It will feel good, and it will give him that flush that Kamski likes so much, and it certainly isn’t hot enough to scald him. As the bubbles rise, Connor undresses, accustomed to doing so in front of his master. Kamski reaches out like he can’t help himself, and skims his fingertips along the smooth expanse of Connor’s thigh. 

“I wish I could turn you,” Kamski purrs, his fingers inching towards Connor’s femoral artery, following the flow of his blood like dowsing rods. “I could keep you beautiful like this forever, always young, always perfect. Always mine.”

Connor swallows the sour taste in his throat and sets his shift aside. “Then why don’t you?”

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Kamski replies, pulling his hand away. “It isn’t that simple. And besides, how could I possibly feed off of anyone else after having you?” 

Connor knows the question is rhetorical. He could argue that he’s sure his blood only tastes the way it does because of the diet Kamski keeps him to, and that he’s sure anyone else’s would taste the same if the same conditions were met for them. But he knows it would just get him in trouble, so he steps into the tub, using Kamski’s hand to balance himself as he lowers himself into the water. It’s heaven, between the warmth and the gentle aroma of the bubbles, and Connor can lose himself in this for a while and let the rest of the world dissolve. He’s so relaxed that he forgets his master is there until Kamski begins massaging shampoo into Connor’s hair. 

“That’s it, little one, just enjoy it,” Kamski says, ruining the moment. “Let me take care of you.”

Connor just hums and keeps his eyes closed. He can endure this--at least he isn’t being beaten or torn apart by starving vampires like he’s known some of the unfortunates from the Pens have experienced. He soaks, letting the water soothe his muscles, and almost drifts off to sleep.

Until, that is, he feels Kamski’s icy hand slip against his neck, over his collarbone, and then under the water to rest against his chest, fingertips against the line of scar tissue there. Connor tries not to flinch--Kamski does this all the time, he’s fascinated with Connor’s surgery scars, but even more so with the steady flutter of his heart beneath. Connor had considered asking him about this obsession, but the reason is rather obvious. Kamski, whose own heart--if he has one at all--has never beat within his chest, so he has attached himself to the next best thing. Connor has found Kamski catching his wrist, letting his lips linger at the artery in his neck, pressing his palm where it is now, against the flat plane of Connor’s chest. That isn’t even the worst part; Connor has been so conditioned over the years to equate that touch with his own libido that, even while it makes his skin crawl, he can’t help the hot twist low in his belly. 

“I wish I had more time before the meeting,” Kamski murmurs just as Connor squeezes his thighs together in a veiled effort to quiet his arousal. “I want to take you apart in the way you deserve. I want to make you feel how much I value you.”

Connor shifts a little, not answering. He’s damned either way if he were to comment. He settles for lathering up a washcloth and scrubbing it gently over his skin, enjoying this time while he has it. When his fingers are wrinkled and the water gone tepid, Kamski grabs the towel and Connor steps out, allowing his master to wrap him up. Kamski bends, then, and scoops Connor into his arms as though he weighs nothing. Kamski’s mood seems to be holding. He carries Connor out of the bathroom and lays him out on the bed, unwrapping the towel as though Connor is a gift nestled in tissue paper. Connor bites his lip, resisting the urge to cover himself. He’s gotten much better at ignoring that little wave of embarrassment that comes every time he’s bared, but it hasn’t completely gone away. Kamski climbs up next to him, lithe and soundless as he slips a knee between Connor’s legs. 

“Mmm… what to do with you,” the vampire king purrs, skimming his nails over Connor’s ribs as the breath catches in Connor’s throat. “I shouldn’t keep my guests waiting, but I can hardly resist you.” He noses over Connor’s jawline, his breath ghosting against Connor’s pulse point. 

“They may be a diplomatic envoy,” Connor breathes, letting his hands rest on either side of his head against the pillow, “but you’re their king. They will wait for you.” He reaches up to press trembling fingers against the sharp line of Kamski’s cheekbone. “One taste, to get you through, and then you can have all you want once the meeting is over.”

There’s a quiet hiss, the sound passed between Kamski’s fangs and the skin of Connor’s neck. He pulls away and Connor can see the way his pupils are wide, the crimson ring of his irises narrow around them. “Just one taste,” he echoes. His fingernail rakes down over Connor’s hip, leaving a thin red welt in its wake. “But not here.” Connor gasps as he feels a sharp spike of pain in his inner thigh, high near his groin, and a second later, Kamski dives down to cover the new wound before Connor can even feel any blood spill over. The pain is brief, and gives over to that all-encompassing flare of pleasure that floods his veins as Kamski sinks his fangs into the tender, sensitive skin. 

“Please,” Connor whimpers, feeling the pull of Kamski’s influence over him. He struggles against it, fighting to maintain a semblance of control over himself. It wouldn’t do to have his master go too far and not be able to break free. 

With a heavy breath, Kamski pulls away, his mouth and chin stained red with Connor’s blood. He licks the evidence from his lips, then leans down again to swipe his tongue over the wound. It will close fairly quickly--though there is an anti-coagulant property to vampiric saliva, there is a backup clotting agent that kicks in if a vampire-inflicted wound is not actively fed from after a certain period of time. In a way, it makes the human body a bit like vampire Tupperware, preserving the food supply for longer periods of time. At most, Connor may notice a little minor spotting on the fabric of his pants over the area, if anything at all. 

“Come,” Kamski says, sounding ragged as he stands and offers Connor his hand. “Let’s dress you. We cannot keep them waiting any longer.” 

Connor is often a little dizzy after a feeding, even a small one, and he sways just twice once he’s upright, but Kamski catches him against his chest and holds him until the feeling passes. Connor nods and steps back, turning to put on the clothes he chose. Kamski watches the entire time, taking stock of every inch of skin before it is covered up by Connor’s underwear, shirt, and pants. Once Connor is presentable, Kamski smiles and opens the nightstand drawer, taking out a small, round container Connor has seen a handful of times before. Kamski unscrews the top and rubs his finger against the solid cologne, then applies it to the little bones behind each of Connor’s ears. 

“There,” Kamski says at last, returning the tiny jar to the drawer. “Are you ready to greet our guests?” 

Connor manages a demure smile and nods. He knows that now is the time to clam up--speak only when directly spoken to, and even then, wait for encouragement from his master, who will often answer on his behalf. 

“Very good.” Kamski holds out his arm for Connor to thread his own around, then guides him back to the elevator doors. “My beautiful pet. You’ll make me proud, I know you will.”

Connor isn’t sure whether he hopes that’s true or not.

* * *

The attaché is small, but all well-dressed and presentable. Connor hasn’t heard a lot about the vampires from the other regions, but he isn’t sure he expected them to be as put-together as Kamski and his entourage. The leader--Connor can tell by his bearing alone, and by the way the others seem to defer to him--is a tall man with brown skin and close-shaven hair. When he turns around to greet them and lead his delegates in a bow, Connor notices that his eyes are two different colors.

“Elijah,” the man says, opening his arms as wide as his smile. “Thank you for having us. I’ll admit, when I sent my message, I wasn’t sure you’d reply at all, let alone invite us to your beautiful estate.”

Kamski offers him a thin smile. “And miss the chance to show off the luxuries of the Midwest? How little you know me, Markus.” 

Markus chuckles, showing off fangs that are shorter than Kamski’s, but no less sharp. “I’d invite you to mine, but I fear you’d find our standard of living a little...sub-par.” 

“Ah, you must have had a long journey,” Kamski says, then, ushering the little group into the parlor. “Can I offer you something to drink?” 

Markus lowers himself into a high-backed armchair as Kamski mirrors the action in his own plush velvet chair. Connor, out of habit, settles on his knees at Kamski’s side, his hands in his lap. He notices that there is a pretty blonde girl in a blue dress assuming a similar pose beside Markus, and he cocks his head a little. She doesn’t really look human, but he supposes she definitely doesn’t look like a vampire, either. “That’s kind of you, your Lordship, but no, thank you,” Markus says, crossing one leg over the other. “I hope the offer may stand, though, should we find our appetite rising.”

Kamski smiles and steeples his fingers. “Of course. Say the word and I’ll have something brought up.” 

Connor fights the slight surge of nausea in his gut. _People,_ he thinks, _he means people._

“Now,” Kamski continues, “about this business that brings you here--”

Markus shifts in his chair, dropping one hand to the blonde girl’s nape. “Before we get into all that, I brought an offering. I thought it may be customary to pay tribute to the royalty of my kind, after all.” 

Kamski tilts his head, intrigued. “Indeed,” he replies. His gaze drops to the blonde. “Come here, sweet thing.”

In a graceful motion, she stands and crosses the gap between the chairs, eyes down as she presents her upturned wrist. Kamski takes her arm in his slender fingers, pulling her closer so that he can press his nose to the blue veins in her wrist. He closes his eyes and inhales, then drops her wrist and gestures for her to kneel again. “Lovely fragrance,” he says in that deep purr of his. “Do you know her bloodline?”

Markus procures a small wad of papers from within his breast pocket and passes them over. “Pure-bred human going back six generations, B negative, no history of illness or infirm, save the occasional head cold when the weather changes, but that may be a non-issue with her new climate.” 

Kamski reviews the papers--a pedigree, from what Connor can make out given the poor angle. “Thank you for your tribute, Markus,” he says, finally. “I gladly accept. Now. To business.”

The next few hours pass with Connor half-listening, trying not to nod off on his little cushion. He catches little bits of information here and there--the two leaders discuss defense, and can Kamski spare an architect or two to help improve the holding barns where their stock live, as New England winters are even harsher now than they were a hundred years ago, and he lost several promising specimens to frostbite last year--but mostly, he tunes them out in favor of studying Markus’s clothing, his compatriots, and the blonde girl now seated on the other side of Kamski’s chair. He can’t get much, but he can tell they aren’t like the vampires around here, not snobbish and ill-tempered in the way elites are. After a while, he feels his eyelids start to droop a little, and his breathing slows as he settles into a light doze.

“Connor,” Kamski’s voice is firm, and the sharp fingernails clutching the back of his neck are even firmer, “Markus asked you a question.”

Connor blinks and kneels upright, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Markus’s smile is soft, wholly contradictory to Kamski’s tone. “That’s alright, I can tell you’ve had a long night. I asked how you like being here, if there is anything you might suggest as we grow our stock in Boston.”

Connor licks his dry lips and thinks for a moment. It doesn’t feel like a trap, exactly, as Markus’s expression is open and earnest, but he knows if he gives the wrong answer, Kamski will punish him anyway. “I am grateful to be Master Kamski’s Prime Familiar,” he says, batting his eyelashes. “It is a high honor, and my master affords me many luxuries I would not have otherwise.”

Markus nods. “I’m glad to hear that. You must be very proud of your position.”

Connor steels himself and summons a smile. “I am, sir,” he says. 

“But what about the other part of my question?” Markus adds. “What do you recommend to help keep our humans safe and content?”

Connor’s eyes dart to Kamski briefly. He isn’t sure he’ll be allowed to give an answer, but Kamski isn’t saying anything, so he clears his throat and drops his chin. “I… I know it’s difficult, but… it would be nice to be allowed some time in the sunshine every now and then. Even for just an hour or two. It’s difficult being in the Pens without knowing if it’s day or night. I’ve heard of a few humans who began to hallucinate because of it.”

He hears Kamski’s slow draw of breath beside him, but Markus nods again. “Thank you, Connor. I appreciate your input. Your advice will help make the lives of your fellow humans better.”

Kamski clears his throat. “On that note, speaking of the sun,” he says, rising from his chair, “it is nearing dawn and we should retire. Damned summer. A guest suite has been prepared for you and your entourage, Markus--I will have an attendant show you up. Should you require anything during your rest, do not hesitate to call for one of the house staff and they will provide whatever you need.” 

Markus bows, his hand to his chest. “Thank you, your Lordship. Your hospitality is much appreciated.” 

“Come along now, Connor,” Kamski says in a tone that allows no deviation. “And you as well, Chloe. May as well get you acclimated.”

The blonde girl trots up alongside Connor, her eyes still down, and now that they’re closer and her ponytail is pulled to the other side, he can see that her neck is… entirely unmarked. His eyes widen and his lips part. He has never seen a human without feeding scars, at least since being a prisoner here. As he flounders to make sense of this, he feels something dry pressed into his hand. He makes to lift his hand to see what it is, but stops when Chloe gives a minute shake of her head. 

Thankfully, Kamski lets him rest when they get back up to the penthouse, in favor of appraising Chloe further and performing a thorough examination to make sure she is true to her pedigree. As he lays in the large bed, curled up in the blankets and pretending to sleep, he looks at the paper she had passed him.

_We are going to free you,_ it says in scribbled but neat handwriting. _You will know when it's time._


	2. habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The elevator dings, and the door slides open, and they both step inside. Connor resists the urge to sink to his knees. Somehow, he still can’t believe this isn’t a trap of some kind, that his loyalty is being tested, that no sooner will he open that door than he’ll have ten vamps upon him, holding him still while Kamski cracks open his ribcage and feasts on his organs._
> 
> The escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!! finally
> 
> Just in time for Halloween... I was worried it wouldn't happen but here we are lol. Thank you all for putting up with me and the fact that i have a crisis like, every other week, and it stops me from writing.

Hank isn’t sure how it all got this fucked.

Well, logically he knows that the generations that came long before destroyed the earth, which then required them to biologically adapt to the conditions they had created, which then in turn led to the evolution of the Adapted, but that textbook shit doesn’t do him any good. The facts of the matter are that A, he is Lupine, which is the PC term for people like him, since they aren’t exactly werewolves, but are more wolfish than human, and B, vampires are fucking awful. Blanket statement, save for Markus and Simon and the rest of the vamps in the crew. Kind of puts a sour taste in one’s mouth when vampires tear your lover to shreds in front of your very eyes, simply because they were starving and she was convenient.

He’d gone a bit off the rails after that, which is maybe putting it lightly, but that’s neither here nor there. He’d killed indiscriminately for a while, broke off from his pack, hunted vampires for sport rather than sustenance. He’d gone into moon fury more in those two years than he had ever before, or has ever since. And then Markus had found him, half-starved, half-feral, with barely any humanity left in him. Hank isn’t sure what switch isn’t flipped in Markus’s brain, but he is the only vamp Hank had met who didn’t behave like a vampire. He treats his thralls with the utmost respect--if one can even call them thralls, given that he doesn’t have to exert any power over them to make them stay. Maybe all isn’t lost.

  
When Markus initially proposed the idea of infiltrating vamp nests, especially those holding a lot of power, Hank thought he was hearing things. To attack a nest of any size was crazy in and of itself, since vamps are notorious for being dangerous when cornered, but to go after the top brass? Markus had to have a death wish. But he had assured Hank that his skills of diplomacy and espionage were far greater, had laughed off Hank’s worry. Markus had asked for Hank’s trust, and the first time they’d freed a handful of half-starved humans in desperate need of a wash, a good meal, and a solid night’s sleep, he’d finally believed. Since then, he’s played his share of roles--mostly the well-trained muscle, though in some cases he’s had to be the obedient, enslaved trophy. Hank doesn’t much mind, and Markus looks after him and makes sure he’s not doing more than he can handle.

  
This mission has been tricky. Markus knows Kamski’s disdain for the Lupine, and when they were forming their strategy, Markus wasn’t sure if using Hank as the “trophy” would be effective the way it has been among other vampire leaders. So instead, they opted to have Hank lead his fellow Lupines, North and Gavin, on recon of Kamski’s compound. They use the cover of darkness to observe the estate from the fringes, taking stock of the security--where guards are posted, when they change shifts, whether there are cameras and where they’re placed. As the sun begins to rise, the posted guards return inside, and once the coast is clear, Hank splits the three of them up to find a way inside that’s within the CCTV’s blind spots. North is the first one to do so--the scent marker she sends up leads Hank to where she’s tucked herself against the wall to stay out of range of the cameras, and Gavin trots up a moment later.

“In here. I don’t know if the door’s alarmed, though,” North whispers, hazel eyes bright even in the dark. “We’ll have to be careful.”

  
Hank nods, and puts his hand on the handle. “Be prepared to run. If someone has to get caught, it should only be me. No point in all three of us getting taken.” North and Gavin nod their assent, and Hank slowly turns the handle. No alarm sounds, and Hank pulls the door open a fraction at a time. Still no alarm. He peeks his head inside, looking for more CCTV cameras. North really found the exact right point of entry, because there are no cameras that Hank can identify. He glances back at them both and nods before stepping inside. Now all they need to do is find a way to the area where their prisoners are kept…

  
* * *

  
When Connor wakes, he is aware of two things right away:

  
One, that Kamski is no longer in the room. And two, that Chloe is sitting up, her body wrapped in the bedsheet, and she’s studying him with placid, searching eyes.

  
“Where--”

  
“Elijah left about an hour ago,” Chloe says. “It’s not quite 2 in the afternoon now. He won’t be back, I expect.”

  
Connor pushes himself onto his elbows and frowns. “Why? What happened?”

  
A tiny, enigmatic smile tweaks Chloe’s lips. “Well, nothing happened, exactly, but he is indisposed. My blood has that effect on people.”

  
A chill spikes through Connor’s veins, and he curls his knees up to his chest, trying to make himself small. “He would know if you weren’t human. How is that possible? How could you do that to him without him knowing?”

  
Chloe reaches out to take Connor’s hand. “We’ve been calling it ‘thirium,’” she replies, turning her own hand over to expose her wrist. Her skin is pale, paler even than Connor’s, and her veins stand out prominently. “I can’t explain all of it right now, but it’s something I’ve been developing with Markus’s help. It helps to heal us--helps humans recover from bites and things much faster--but when we’re fed on, it slows the metabolism of whatever feeds on us, effectively drugging them. I anticipate we’ll have until nightfall to get you out of here and find a way of smuggling out more of the other humans, but I haven’t perfected the serum yet, so I can’t make any promises.” She stands and drops the sheet, and Connor averts his eyes, cheeks heating as Chloe’s nakedness is revealed. She dresses quickly, tying her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck, and gestures at him. “Well come on, put some clothes on. Did you not hear what I just said?”

That spurs him into motion, and he throws on an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pants. He gathers some of the clothes, leaving the ones that are more revealing, or that remind him of Kamski’s preferences, and bundles them into a pillowcase. He feels the weight of Chloe’s gaze on him as he twists the pillowcase shut. “What?” he asks, barely concealing his frustration. “I’m going to need clothes. This is all I have.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I wasn’t judging. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be a feeder at all, much less soul-tied--” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together in a tight line. “Sorry.”

Connor flinches, but shoulders his little bundle and takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. Let’s get out of here. We have to take the elevator since it’s the only way out of the penthouse, but the problem will be the guards on each floor.”

Chloe smirks. “They may not be much of an issue, if everything has gone to plan,” she says, pressing the elevator button. “We’re going to meet up with Markus and the others, and our backup should have started working on getting the captives out, so provided that things are on schedule, we can just walk right out the door.”

The elevator dings, and the door slides open, and they both step inside. Connor resists the urge to sink to his knees. Somehow, he still can’t believe this isn’t a trap of some kind, that his loyalty is being tested, that no sooner will he open that door than he’ll have ten vamps upon him, holding him still while Kamski cracks open his ribcage and feasts on his organs. His stomach flutters with nausea as the elevator descends, watching each floor light up as it passes. When they reach the ground floor, they step out to find Markus rolling up his sleeves and the pale, blond male vampire wiping blood from his chin. “Ah, glad to see you made it,” Markus comments, looking up as Chloe leads Connor over. “Just in time, too.”

“I take it they gave you trouble?” Chloe asks as the dark-skinned man comes around the corner, scrubbing his sleeve across his brow.

“No more than expected,” Markus answers. “It wasn’t difficult to control.” He turns to look at the other two. “You did as we discussed, Josh?”

The newcomer nods. “Not exactly the easiest thing, making it look like weres did it, but I managed. If Simon would stop fuckin’ biting them every time--”

The blond whirls on him. “Now, look--”

“Enough,” Markus says, his tone calm but firmer than steel. “We don’t have much time. Simon, go with Chloe and Connor to group up with Hank and the others. Don’t wait for us. I have to make sure Elijah sees me before I leave, so you need to take advantage of that headstart. I’ll send word once I’m on my way.”

Simon nods, and trots over to them. “Connor?” he says, and holds out a hand when Connor isn’t sure how to respond. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. Are you okay to come with us down to where they keep the humans?”

Connor’s tongue feels like lead, and he can only nod dumbly in reply. He drags his feet after them as they head back to the elevator, and descend the last few floors to the sub-basement where the Pens are. Much to his surprise, there are no guards waiting to load them with bullets as soon as the elevator opens--and that is terribly odd. He has never known a time when there has not been a guard there. “Where--” he starts, but the question fizzles out beneath the sound of a feral growl from somewhere on the other end of the Pens. His eyes dart around, and he notices a second too late that Chloe and Simon have started running in the direction of the sound, tearing down the corridor between the rows of cages. He hurries to catch up, but is too slow, and by the time he reaches them, they’re already finishing off the four vampires that Connor recognizes as guards.

Well. Two are already dead; one’s head has been almost completely severed from its body, tar-like blood oozing out of the jugular vein onto the white tile floor like molasses, and the other’s chest is a ragged, open mess. Connor arrives just in time to see Simon trap one of the remaining vamps in a tight hold, while Chloe produces a palm-sized silver knife and cuts their throat in a brutal swipe. Unlike a human’s arterial spray, this is just a slow cascade--warm lava spreading until it’s cool enough to harden. Connor flattens himself against the wall, heart racing in fear and amazement. He’s never seen anything like this, never seen anyone even attack Kamski’s entourage, let alone kill them with such ferocity. Beyond them stand two people that Connor has never seen before--the woman with delicate, sharp features and chestnut hair has dark blood soaked through the front of her shirt, and a golden fire reflecting in her eyes. Beside her, with his back to them, is a tall man whose shoulders are broad as an oak.

“Gavin’s covering the exit,” the man says in a resonant voice. He turns, beard bloody, and regards Simon and Chloe with lake-blue eyes. “We gotta get out of here. I think one of them might’ve gotten a chance to call for backup.”

Chloe sheathes her knife. “What about the prisoners? Hank, we can’t just leave them--”

Hank shakes his head. “We don’t have time to find the healthy ones, and we can’t move the ones who can’t travel on their own. We have to go. Markus will understand.”

Chloe sighs, her frustration obvious. “Well at least we have Connor. And a good understanding of this estate and how it operates. I’m sure we can organize a rescue mission soon enough.” She turns and touches Connor’s arm, making him start, his heart skipping with the suddenness of it. “Is there anything else you need before we go? Are you strong enough to walk on your own?”

Connor blinks owlishly and clutches his bag to his chest. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” He can feel the weight of Hank’s eyes on him, and he tries very hard not to meet those studying blue eyes, afraid of what Hank might see. As it is, Connor can tell he is neither human nor vampire, which only leaves one option. It makes his stomach twist in apprehension. “We really should hurry before more come,” he adds.

In a moment, they fall into seamless step with one another, with the practiced ease of a well-trained military unit. Chloe and Simon stay close to Connor, while North leads and Hank brings up the rear. Connor follows along on the tide of their movement, going where he’s led without question or comment. One thought beats in his head, over and over-- _I’m going to be free, I’m going to be free, I’m going to be free._ How has the world changed in the time he’s been here? Would he even recognize it? What is he going to do with his life, now that it’s his to do with as he chooses?

Hank leans against the bar to open the fire exit door, and Connor yelps, almost crumpling to the ground as soon as his feet hit grass. It’s so bright out--naturally bright, instead of the cold and impersonal artificial light or the dim glow of candlelight which are all he is used to. He can hardly believe that the ground beneath him is solid, that the breeze on his skin isn’t the stale, recycled air pushed through the Pens by an old ventilation system. “Hey. You alright?” Hank asks, bending to loop a thick arm around him and help him to stand. Connor feels the reverberations of Hank’s deep voice shudder through his chest. He gets his feet under him, biting back a wince at the unfamiliar feeling of grass and gravel under his tender soles.

“I’ll be okay. Just. Not used to it, that’s all,” he says, stumbling along to keep up. He knows how imperative it is that they put distance between them and the manor, and quickly, so he forces his legs to cooperate.

“I can carry you if you need me to. But you gotta tell me so before you fall behind,” Hank comments, and his words make Connor’s heart stutter.

“Good to know,” he mumbles in reply.

Their efforts seem not to be in vain, as they reach a pair of beaten-up old canvas-sided vans just as the sun begins to slip below the horizon. There’s a tiny woman and a barrel-chested man standing by them, and when they see the group approach, the woman lowers her gun and fishes a set of keys out of her pocket. “That’s all you got?” she asks, wrinkling her nose at Connor. “I thought the whole point of us bringing the trucks was so that we had a way of transporting, I don’t know, a few dozen people.”

“There wasn’t enough time,” Simon tells her as they pile into one of the vans, the large man getting into the second one along with Josh and North. “He may only be one human, but he’s probably the best one we could have chosen. He’s Kamski’s Prime Familiar.”

The woman’s green eyes widen with newfound amazement. “Oh. Well then. Sorry for doubting you.” She extends a slim hand for a shake, which Connor takes. “I’m Kara. I’ll introduce you to Luther properly once we’re back at the safe house. I’m glad you’re safe now.”

The trucks rumble down the road, and as night falls, Connor’s nerves are so frayed that he can’t figure out whether he’d rather sleep until someone decides to wake him up, or to stay awake as long as he physically can. He trusts these people, almost as much as he shouldn’t trust them. They have, so far, proven themselves to be kind, and to genuinely want to help not only him, but others like him. He tucks his knees up against his chest, making himself small on the seat as he watches fields and rolling hills whip by through the little gap in the canvas. This is more of the world than he has seen in over a decade. He wishes it felt more liberating.

“How you holdin’ up?”

Connor glances over at Hank, who is watching him with alert, almost reflective eyes. “It’s strange, to be out here. I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a car that functions. At least, not since…” the words die on his tongue.

_Not since I was taken._

“What are you?” Connor changes the subject, ignoring any concern that the question might be a rude one. He figures he has a right to know. Figures that if he is going to trust these people to keep him safe, he deserves to know who--and what--they are.

“Lupine,” Hank says without hesitation. “Thought it might be obvious.”

Connor glances over him again. He supposes it is obvious, in some ways, but there’s still something about Hank that seems different. Connor hasn’t had much opportunity to meet weres, but somehow Hank is unique. “I haven’t met many,” he explains. “Have you been with Markus for long?”

Hank shakes his shaggy head, looking back out the rear flaps of the canvas. “Nah. Well… not compared to some of the others. I’ve only been with Jericho for about five years.”

“Jericho,” Connor echoes. “One of the others mentioned that, earlier. Is it a place?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions,” Hank grunts, glancing back at him.

Connor shuffles his feet a little. “Kamski says it’s a bad habit of mine. He disciplines me when I go too far. I can’t help it.”

Hank hums. After a long moment, he raises a hand through the canvas flaps and then ducks back inside. “We’re almost there. Luther’s gonna do a perimeter to make sure it’s secure while we go in. Then we can get some food into you and get you settled.”

It doesn’t take long before the truck pulls to a stop, safe behind a double gate topped with razor wire. Connor catches glimpses of other people milling around, some carrying weapons, some manning the gates. Kara kills the engine and Connor hears the door open and shut as she jumps out, and a moment later, the flaps are pulled away and Hank hops down before offering a hand out to Connor. Still clutching his pack to his chest, Connor gingerly places his hand in Hank’s much larger one, then slips down off the back of the truck.

“Let’s get you inside and fed,” Hank says. “Somebody’ll give you the dime tour and we’ll get you something to eat. I’ll see what I can do about finding you a place to sleep. Not that I don’t trust the people around here, but…” Something in his tone suggests that that may not entirely be true. Connor falls in step beside him, which means taking twice as many steps to keep up with Hank’s deliberate, long-legged pace. Connor tries to take everything in, tries to get a sense of his surroundings, so that if he does have to make a break for it, he’ll know which way to go and how badly the odds are stacked against him. He hears only a couple of hisses, or interested sniffs, and to anyone who stares too openly or moves too close, Hank delivers a snarl or a look that cuts the behavior short.

Connor doesn’t realize until he’s sitting with a plate of food in front of him, sequestered in a part of the dormitory that he overheard Hank giving someone explicit instructions not to disturb, just how bone tired he is. Escape is exhausting, go figure--his body has been operating at maximum stress for so long that now, finally able to breathe, he finds it a monumental task to do so. He manages to drink a whole bottle of water, and eats about half of what’s been given to him before he sets the plate aside in favor of curling up on the thin little mattress. Sleep doesn’t come, and it takes a long time for his pulse to slow and his breathing to even out, but he relaxes, and thankfully, he’s left alone.

He’s not sure he’s ever been alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/hallaburger)

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hallaburger)


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